


Sleeve

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cousin Incest, Established Relationship, M/M, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 16:47:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5012260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fingon benefits from Fëanor’s most useful invention yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleeve

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Silmarillion or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Many of Valinor’s creatures are meant for Yavanna’s trees, but others, like the lithe felines that his father seems to collect, can have more trouble getting down than going up. The one currently flicking its tail and whining from a high branch is mostly brown with a white dot upon its forehead, marking it as one of his cousin’s favourite, and once Findekáno heard the poor thing’s pleas, he couldn’t walk away.

Turukáno and Arakáno are on a bench across the courtyard, but they’re too wrapped up in their discussion to notice, so Findekáno takes it upon himself to approach the tree and stand on his toes, trying to wrap his hands around the animal’s furry belly. If it were wiser, it would leap into his arms, but the Valar never gave its kind such thoughts. Instead it merely looks at him with big, black eyes, a string of mewls emptying out of its muzzle. 

Then an arm reaches past him, clad in maroon. Long fingers slip beneath the animal and gently lower it down. Before Findekáno’s turned, he knows who it is. He greets, “Maitimo,” with a grateful smile for the use of his cousin’s height.

“Findekáno,” Maitimo returns, before glancing back over his shoulder. The only two others in the courtyard are Findekáno’s brothers, neither of whom pay them any attention. But it’s a bright, beautiful day, and Maitimo checks both entrances to the grassy yard before leaning closer, whispering low, “My father gave me something.”

“Does he not often?” Findekáno asks. Many say that the sons of Fëanáro are spoiled, and Maitimo, the eldest, is treated most save only for Curufinwë.

Maitimo only grins at the playful jab and sweeps an arm around Findekáno’s waist, turning to guide him to walk. They leave the shade of the tree and pass the smattering of benches amid flowers, beneath the stone arch and into the corridor beyond. It’s empty, too, but still Maitimo ushers Findekáno to a small wooden door. It opens into a closet that Maitimo fits inside, pulling Findekáno with him. There’s only one broom and a pail to step around, but it’s so small that if they sat down, their legs wouldn’t be able to stretch across it. Maitimo closes the door behind them, only faint fissures of light creeping around the edges. 

“What are you doing?” Findekáno laughs, hushed out of respect for his cousin’s clear caution. Even in the near-darkness, he can see the dimples of Maitimo’s smile. Maitimo answers by way of kissing him, light but with a little tongue, hands splaying over his shoulders. Findekáno kisses back, pleased at the turn. Now he understands the necessity for privacy, and the inability to wait. Maitimo presses into the kiss, body arching forward and shifting gracefully, like dancing against him, trying for different angles, mapping as much of Findekáno’s mouth as possible. Findekáno finds himself moaning into it, but in between the fluttering touch of Maitimo’s lips, he asks, “What does this have to do with it?”

“He gave me a sheath,” Maitimo murmurs, clearly excited. He surges in for another kiss, then another, until Findekáno pushes him back, confused. So Maitimo pauses to explain, “He drew me aside this morning and said that he did not think it fair that I could not play about like the rest of his sons without fear of bearing children before I was ready. They could impregnate another, yes, but I would _bear_ it, and I am his heir and must be particularly conscious of when it is right. So he fashioned me a new device of fabric, but thin and supple with stretch, so that I could sheath my partner and enjoy the fruits of my body.”

Blushing and more than a little shocked, Findekáno mutters, “Are you... are you serious?”

“Yes,” Maitimo laughs delightfully. “I was as surprised as you—I did not know my father even had any skill with fabrics! But he is skilled in all things, it seems, and even if it does not work, I still wish to try it on you.” He punctuates it with another kiss, this time hard enough to have Findekáno backing up until he’s hit the wall. He wraps around Maitimo’s neck, weaving into Maitimo’s red hair, while his mind reels with the possibilities. They’ve always had to be so _careful_ , and he could never stay in as much as he likes. There’s no way Fëanáro created such a thing to aid their scandal, but now their fear of being caught seems far less imminent. 

“I want to have you inside me the whole way this time,” Maitimo purrs against his mouth, while running eager palms down his sides to grab at his trousers. Maitimo scrunches Findekáno’s tunic out of the way, then dives right into his trousers, and Findekáno _gasps_ , head tossing back, while his cousin’s talented fingers wrap around his cock. He’s hard already, like he always is when offered Maitimo’s body. Other times, he’s grown stiff just by looking at his lover, or speaking with him, or listening to Maitimo hum one of Maglor’s latest songs. The thought of _filling him up_ and maybe even _putting a child in him_ has flittered through Findekáno’s mind once too often, but they _can’t_ , not yet, and this is such an unexpected treat in the meantime. 

“You are always so hard for me,” Maitimo sighs happily, like reading his thoughts. Maitimo squeezes once around the base whilst pulling Findekáno out, and Findekáno hisses and shivers in sheer _want_. On instinct, his hands smooth down Maitimo’s body, and he dislodges Maitimo’s own tunic, sliding into his trousers the way he’s done for Findekáno. Maitimo breaks off in a lewd moan and bucks into Findekáno’s hand.

“And you are always wet for me,” Findekáno answers. He cups between Maitimo’s legs, his fingers rubbing back and forth against Maitimo’s moist lips. His thumb flicks here and there over the little nub buried at the top, and when he squeezes, he can _hear_ the squelch of Maitimo’s juices. Maitimo presses his face against the side of Findekáno’s and whines deliciously. 

For a moment, they just hold each other, enjoying their mutual interest, until Findekáno gets the wherewithal to ask huskily, “Where is it?”

“Top pocket,” Maitimo returns, but he reaches for it before Findekáno has. He adds, “I want to put it on you.”

That’s probably for the best, as Findekáno doesn’t know how, but he doesn’t care. He wants anything that’ll let him be in Maitimo even a second longer. He pets Maitimo’s leaking pussy the whole way through Maitimo’s shaken effort to pull the device from the pocket of his trousers. With one hand, Maitimo points Findekáno’s cock up and holds it still, and the other stretches a smooth circle around it, followed by a strange material, thinner than gossamer. Findekáno can hardly see it in the light. It seems to suck to his shape, not sealed on too tightly but not baggy in any place. For a brief, fleeting moment, he wonders if Fëanáro had it designed for _him_ , knowing he’s the only one to have the honour of Maitimo’s body, but of course, that’s ridiculous. Maitimo rolls it down the entire length, until the ring is tucked just against his balls. Then Maitimo stops to slip below and fondle them, while Findekáno rewards him with one finger pressed inside his slit. As Maitimo mewls, Findekáno pushes deeper, thrusting easily inside Maitimo’s tight but soaking walls. He strokes them along the way, which makes Maitimo jerk almost violently against him, quivering and soon begging, “Káno, Káno, _please_.”

“I will, I will,” Findekáno mutters, trying to disentangle enough for it, but it’s odd at their angle. Finally, he pushes Maitimo back, enough that they’re against the other wall, Maitimo’s spine now arching off it and Findekáno standing between his feet. 

“How does it feel?” Maitimo asks, sounding dizzy already.

“Strange, but fine,” Findekáno decides. He’s never felt anything quite like it to compare, but it isn’t bad. He can’t think, can’t focus on anything that isn’t _Maitimo_. He grabs onto Maitimo’s hips, and Maitimo understands, jumping up. His feet latch tight around Findekáno’s back, thighs holding onto Findekáno’s sides, locked around him, so that Findekáno has to pin him to the wall to balance his weight. 

“I hope I can feel you through it,” Maitimo mumbles. It makes Findekáno shiver while he lines himself up to Maitimo’s entrance. Maitimo leans closer, wrapping tight around Findekáno’s shoulders and tilting to Findekáno’s ear. Right against it, he hisses, “I am so glad you will not have to pull out of me again—I have always wanted you to come _inside me_.”

Findekáno smashes his lips against Maitimo’s at the same time he shoves his cock inside. That first push is always _exquisite_ , and he can still feel _everything_ , all of Maitimo’s velvet soft walls sucking him up into a slick inferno. It’s tight but malleable, molding around him, shifting with each flutter of Maitimo’s breath. He flexes wildly around Findekáno’s cock before clenching, then releasing to flutter again; Findekáno recognizes the feeling of Maitimo trying to draw him deeper in. Findekáno pushes slowly in on his own, while Maitimo rocks against him, pinned too hard against the wall to drop down. 

“I can still feel you,” Maitimo gasps between kisses, just as Findekáno reaches the end, buried balls-deep inside. It’s wonderful as it always is: sheer _ecstasy_ , and he needs a moment just to regain himself. Maitimo makes his head swim. Maitimo nuzzles into his face and groans, “I can feel every part of you—every ripple, every vein. Findekáno, you feel so _good_.”

“You feel better,” Findekáno promises, sure it’s true. Nothing could ever feel as _right_ as Maitimo does around him. He takes in a deep breath and slides halfway out, the grip of Maitimo’s legs not letting him go any further, and he slams right back inside. Maitimo cries out, and Findekáno follows, his head ducking into Maitimo’s hair. His hands claw at the bare curve of Maitimo’s ass. He wishes they’d made it home, so they could rip off their tunics and trousers, but he understands why Maitimo couldn’t last so long. They’ll do it in bed properly, too, Findekáno’s and Maitimo’s, and probably a few others, and the first field they can find exclusively, and in the little cavern by the pond that they found when they were young. They’ve already done all that and more, but now they’ll do it without the worry of going too far, and Findekáno will stay inside as long as he can. His next thrust is deeper, and the one after that jostles Maitimo up the wall. They kiss again, half just to muffle their sounds.

Findekáno sets a brutal pace, because he knows Maitimo can take it and he can’t help himself; every time he’s out, he _needs_ to be back in, and when he’s in he needs the friction of _more_. He fucks Maitimo in hard, full thrusts that Maitimo writhes against and leans into, and they kiss in between. Their tongues keep clashing, first one dominant, then the other. Maitimo cups his face and tugs at his hair and murmurs, “I love you, Káno, I do,” into Findekáno’s ear. He could melt of his pleasure.

Somehow he manages to insist, “I love you too, Nelyo.” He’s never loved anyone, anything, so much. Maitimo houses his cock so perfectly—sometimes he thinks they were made for each other—it’s so cruel that they’re both from Finwë’s house, and times like this Findekáno doesn’t _care_ ; he’d gladly be shunned from the Noldor to spend his life with Maitimo—Maitimo might follow him—they’re the only two that truly have each other’s backs, that would do _anything_ for each other; he knows Maitimo would defy his own father for Findekáno, and every last kiss fills Findekáno with such joy he could burst, until it’s all too much. 

His orgasm hits him like a tidal wave, crashing through him with liquid fire and utter bliss to the ends of his fingertips. He loses sense of his body, though he curls forward around Maitimo to hold Maitimo tight and bury his scream in Maitimo’s neck. He’s shooting jet after jet into Maitimo’s body, though it just sloshes back around him. He hears Maitimo’s cry and feels Maitimo’s walls spasm around him, and he knows his lover’s followed.

He lives in that bliss for a moment. Then it recedes, lingering in gentler waves, where his hips twitch and he pumps out more. Maitimo’s clinging to him tight enough to leave bruises. He feels heady and dazed, slowly slipping back into his body, to find himself sweaty and shaking. 

Findekáno’s the first to slump down. He takes Maitimo with him, and they slide to the floor, Maitimo sprawled out in his lap and Findekáno still inside. He doesn’t have the wherewithal to pull out. He doesn’t _want_ to pull out. Maitimo’s panting and asks, “How was it for you?”

“Perfect,” Findekáno answers without hesitation. Maitimo grins wide, lit up from the side like a Maiar. It makes Findekáno muse aloud, “Now we can spend the night together, knowing there is no harm in forgetting in the middle of the night.”

“We could still forget the cover,” Maitimo notes.

“I would not,” Findekáno promises, knowing he couldn’t forget something that brought him this joy.

Maitimo seems to accept that and laughs, “This is officially my favourite of all of my father’s inventions.” Findekáno smiles back, and he finally pulls out, mainly so he can adjust his position and lift up to kiss Maitimo’s forehead. On his way down, Maitimo captures his mouth. 

A few more kisses, and they lie against one another, on the hard stone of the little closet, until Maitimo carefully peels the device off Findekáno’s flagging cock. He pockets it again despite the mess, adding, “I will wash it.” Findekáno nods and tucks himself back in, then does the same for Maitimo.

They straighten out together, helping each other up in the confined space, and then they take a deep breath to leave. Outside, the light is jarring, but they adjust quickly. When they exit back beneath the arc, Turukáno’s still on the bench, now observing a scroll on his lap. He glances up at them when they pass, and Findekáno hurries quicker for fear their messy hair and damp skin will give them away, until they’re scampering off giddily and wondering where to try next.


End file.
